


Camp

by caricari



Series: Summer Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Flirting, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Historical, Mesopotamia, Other, Sexual Tension, Still figuring out how all of this human stuff works, Summer Omens (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caricari/pseuds/caricari
Summary: “You know, there are a lot of things a person can do, with a human-shaped body... Lots of things that feel nice. Have you never… tried any of that, before?"
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Summer Omens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962562
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79
Collections: Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt four from asparkofgoodness's [Summer Omens prompts challenge](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/post/623395804680470528/here-we-go-friends-now-ive-never-been-the). All works are set in the same timeline, written/drawn in under an hour, and less than 5k. The ones with good grammar are beta read by [ AJ ](https://www.instagram.com/theeyjayy/).
> 
> (Prompts two and three, ’ice cream’ and ‘burn’, were done as a sketch. Find it [here](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/)).

.

The angel arrives in the wide desert basin as the caravan halts for the night. Families are spreading out, seeking comfortable ground on which to erect their tents. Small groups of women are bent over tinder and stone, starting cookfires. Others are tending to the horses. A few of the elders have huddled together, consulting maps, perhaps planning the next day’s directions.

Children, freed from the back of carts and their mother’s hips, race back and forth between the small collections of adults, their laughter loud. It is a scene of intense human domesticity, Aziraphale thinks, watching. Before long, the air is soon thick with woodsmoke and the scent of spices and cooking meat. There is little to go around but what there is, is shared. This group of thirty six humans is all one family. Where they go, they go together.

From a rise, at the top of the encampment, Aziraphale spots the demon easily. Crawly is the only creature around with hair quite so vivid, or skin quite so pale. There are not many humans in this region who share that colouring. For Crawly, this is a blessing. The demon can excuse the skin away along with the strange eyes - claiming both traits a feature of the people of the North, to which the demon belongs. As most humans travel only a handful of leagues from their homes, the excuse is usually accepted.

Personally, Aziraphale uses magic to draw attention away from his pale hair and bright eyes - the same way he misdirects interest in how he does not age, and how he can always understand a foreign tongue. He is practiced at passing unnoticed through the world. And it is a skill which comes to his aid, as he descends into the camp, making for a campfire at the Eastern corner and the fire-haired demon sitting beside it.

Crawly is chattering away with four human women when he arrives. The conversation appears to be centred around one of the human’s upcoming nuptials, and the tone is light and teasing. A lewd joke is shared and the lot of them dissolve into giggles. Their laughter is cut short, however, at Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Hello, Crawly,” the angel smiles, coming to a halt beside the campfire, pressing into his powers to ease the human’s suspicions. “I hope this evening finds you and your friends well.”

The greeting is an old one. Aziraphale is not sure if it is still in fashion, in this part of the world. Certainly, the three younger women do not respond. The older one bobs their head, however, so he cannot be that out of date.

Beside them, Crawly narrows golden eyes and clambers upright.

“Come on, angel. Out. Now.”

Aziraphale frowns.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on!” The demon strides forwards, pushing at his arm, nudging the angel back the way he had come. “Lets go.”

“Where are you taking me? Crawly - why are you pushing? I’m only here to talk,” Aziraphale insists, grumpily, as the demon shoves him towards the edge of camp.

“I’m working.”

“I know you’re working.”

“Then don’t butt in!”

“I’m not-,”

“There’s a delicate balance with humans. You know there is. You’re only here to complicate things.”

“I’m here to talk.”

“Balls you are…” The demon tugs at him. “Right. Well, if you want to talk, you can do it out here. Where you’re not going to ruin all my work.”

They don’t quite make it to the edge of the camp, however, before a tall man steps out in front of them, arms cross and eyeing Aziraphale suspiciously.

“Who is this man?” He asks Crawly, voice full of latent threat.

“Uh…” the demon stares blankly, for a second, then the thought clicks into place in their head. “He’s my cousin. My mother’s sister’s son, passing through on his way to Nibru.”

“Do you need an escort?” The human asks, still eyeing Aziraphale as if he doubts the angel’s intentions.

The demon wrinkles their nose.

“Don’t be a prat, Micah. I’ve been taking care of myself since you were suckling at your mother.”

“Still, you are a woman of our tribe, and I would feel safer not leaving you in the company of a stranger.”

Aziraphale blinks and looks around at Crawly, taking the demon in properly. It hadn’t occurred to the angel to check but Crawly is, indeed, dressed in the garb of a local woman. In fact, the demon has decorated their body in a very feminine fashion indeed. Their familiar red hair is long and wound into intricate patterns. There is dark kohl around their eyes. And the jewellery bedecking their wrists and ankles tells Aziraphale that they are portraying themselves as unmarried.

Considering society’s current constructs, about women and marriage, the angel is not surprised that this human wishes to make sure the demon is safe, in his company.

“Your friend is in no danger,” he smiles, turning his head back around to face the man. “My intentions are entirely honourable. I only wish to talk.”

The human looks unconvinced.

Growing just a tad worried by the breadth of the human’s shoulders, (and the slightly menacing look in his eyes), Aziraphale leans into his powers again. He is aiming to lessen the tension, but, probably because of all the demonic activity around the camp, the spell has little effect. What’s worse, a few of the large man’s friends are beginning to pay attention now, too.

At his shoulder, Crawly gives another shove, throwing a pained smile towards the tall man as they stumble on, towards the desert.

“Micah, be calm. He’s family. And harmless. Just the village idiot, from back home-,”

Aziraphale puffs up.

“Excuse m-,”

“Aziraphale, will you please bugger off ahead?” the demon fixes him with a serious expression - and Aziraphale suddenly realises that this is important.

“Alright.” He sighs, beginning to walk on ahead. “If you insist.”

“Thank you.”

He listens to Crawly as the demon lags behind, sharing a rushed discussion with the small group of the humans.

He hears a couple of tense sentences - and sees a bit of waving of a hand, by the tall man, Micah - but an agreement is soon reached. Body language softens. The demon starts walking towards the edge of camp, calling back over his shoulder.

“Listen, he’s just going to keep an eye out for bandits, while I piss. We’ll be fine. I’ll shout if I need you, alright?”

Aziraphale, standing still beyond the last of the tents, smiles as Crawly draws level, but the demon does not stop.

“Come on.” Grabbing him by the shoulder, Crawly steers them on, instead - out towards the wide open of the desert plain. “Out of earshot. But stay in sight.”

“Goodness… they are rather protective of you,” Aziraphale comments, as he’s led along.

Crawly gives a grunt.

“Just the usual patriarchal bullshit.”

“It’s a good thing they bought that line about me being your cousin.”

“Angel, they absolutely do not believe you are my cousin. That is not what they think we’re doing, out here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really. They’ve just decided it’s not worth the risk of me castrating them, to get my way.”

“Goodness me.”

Crawly comes to a halt some hundred paces away from the human camp, where scrubland gives way to sunbaked dirt.

The valley is an arid place. A few tenacious patches of grass and desert flower cling to life, along the edge of the path, but there are no other signs of life. It is not a good season to be travelling in these parts, Aziraphale thinks, looking around. Three days from the nearest oasis, should the stores the family are travelling run out, they will die of thirst. It is good fortune for them that the weather has been favourable. And that they travel with a demon.

“Right. What is it?” Said demon snips, a the angel turns back to face them. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“Well.” Aziraphale gives his counterpart a tight smile - feeling strangely glad to see Crawly again, four years after their last encounter. “I received intelligence that there was a demon moving a small group of humans out of Eshnunna, down the Tigris.”

Crawly stares at him, for a moment, then throws their hands out wide.

“Right. Excellent job. You’ve found me. What now?”

“Well, I need to find out what you are up to,” Aziraphale points out, feeling that the answer was rather obvious. He eyes Crawly. “What… are you up to?”

Crawly pulls a face.

“Sweating, mainly. It’s hot and dusty, and I haven’t seen the shade of a tree in thirteen long days.”

“But what is your business with the humans?” Aziraphale glances back towards the camp.

“I’m moving a small group of them out of Eshnunna, down the Tigris - what does it look like?”

“Oh, don’t be obtuse,” the angel chides. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“As am I.”

“Couldn’t you just give me a hint?”

“Aziraphale…” Crawly gives an almighty groan and paces away, in a half circle. “Why do you always have to do this? Come poking your nose in? Why can’t you just stick to your own patch and let me have mine?”

“It is my duty, as an angel of the Lord-,” the angel begins.

“Oh, spare me,” Crawly hisses. “Listen… Can you see any signs of horrific demonic activity taking place in this camp? Any idols being created out of human bones? Virgin sacrifices? Necromancy?”

“Well, no, but-,”

“Well, then why can’t you just leave it be?” Rubbing long hands over their sharp face, the demon gives an enormous sigh and throws their exasperated gaze skywards. “Don’t you get it, you prat? If you don’t ask and I don’t tell, we can stop chasing one another in circles for a bit. Doesn’t that sound nice? Bit of a break?”

“Of course not!” The angel replies, pompously. “I was sent here to-,”

“Find out what I was up to. Yes, yes… I know…”

“It is what we _do_ , Crawly.”

“Yeah,” they sigh. “I guess it is.”

It is what they’ve always done. Aziraphale tracks down the demon and tries to identify their plans. Crawly makes a fuss and tries to obfuscate. Eventually, they both agree to put their respective tasks on hold and, more often than not, spend the rest of the afternoon having a good chat. Occasionally, even a drink. There is a strange camaraderie to their opposition. Aziraphale has come to count on it. 

He watches the demon scrub a toe against the ground, wondering if they will reach the same conclusion today and trying to steel himself against it - trying to remember that he is an angel of the Lord, and really shouldn’t.

“So, what are you supposed to do, once you find out about my nefarious plans?” Crawly asks, eventually.

“Why, thwart you, of course.” In truth, Aziraphale hadn't been given instructions on how to deal with this specific intelligence, but he can infer from previous experience. “I suppose I’ll have to cast you into the desert in ignominy, or that sort of thing.” He glances around, at the camp. “You might appear not to be doing them any harm, Crawly, but you are a demon. Whatever you're up to, it must be bad.”

Crawly’s thin mouth forms an even thinner line.

“Mm.”

“I’m happy to skip the ‘casting out' bit, if you just agree to be on your way, come the morning,” the angel offers kindly.

“Well, why don’t we skip the thwarting, too?” Crawly takes a cautious step forwards, moves their weight from one hip to the other. “I’ve got some reasonably quaffable wine, back in my tent. And I can easily make those humans believe you’re one of the tribe. Bit of magic, bit of clever intimation… I have a lot of influence in there, you know? You could even tag along with us, for a bit. There’s going to be a wedding, where we’re going. Music, dancing, stories… lots of good food…”

Aziraphale considers this.

“I don’t think Heaven would like that,” he decides, eventually.

“Well, bully for Heaven,” the demon grumbles, looking a bit put out. “Why do you worry about what they think, anyway? S’not as if they’re covering themselves in glory, right now. Swanning around the place, setting cities on fire and turning people to salt, and flooding everything to fuck and back.” 

“Oh, come now. That isn’t fair.”

“Yes it is.”

“You know why the flood had to happen, Crawly. They were making a point about piety and idolatry.”

“They were covering their backsides,” Crawly spits back. “You know why they wanted to get rid of that valley. It was where the watchers lived. You know… those of your lot, who took up with humans.” The demon gives a nasty little smirk. “They had a lovely little community going, up that way. Everyone getting real chummy. Sharing knowledge and the love of the Lord, and quite a bit of semen, by the sounds of it.”

“Crawly!”

“Well, they were! Apparently, by the time Heaven caught wind of it all, there were a dozen half angels, pottering around the place. That’s why they wanted a clean sweep of the place. To wipe them all out.”

“Where did you hear all of this?”

“The ones that fell - they are all demons, now. I bumped into Azazel, fresh from the pits, last time I was back,” the demon gesticulates vaguely downwards.

“Ah, yes. I heard about Azazel.” Aziraphale scuffs his feet through the dust. “The whole thing sounded rather dreadful. It was poor Raphael who had to cast them out, you know? They had been close.”

“Don’t know why you’re saying poor Raphael…” The demon scrunches their nose. “He’s not the one who had to take a swan dive into a pool of boiling brimstone. S’hotter than the asshole of a dying star, that stuff.”

“You can’t give Heaven’s secrets away and just get away with it, Crawly.”

"I wasn't saying-,"

"It's how things work."

"Alright, alright..."

The demon sniffs.

“I take it you weren’t involved?” They ask, after a pause. “Wings still white, are they?”

“Of course they are.” Aziraphale feels his cheeks rush with colour. The very thought… “To be honest,” he ventures, after another awkward silence, “I was rather distracted, at the time, by developments in the written word - down in Ur. I’d become involved in the development of a new stylus and, as a result, hadn’t visited the plains for a good century. I didn’t realise any of this was going on.” He clears his throat. “I feel rather foolish for missing the whole thing, actually.”

The anger drains from Crawly’s expression, replaced by something softer.

“Yeah. Well…” the demon gives a little shrug. “Me too. Was up north until Hastur sent me back, to check on the Ark.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah. Only found out about it all just before I bumped into you.” 

“Oh. I see.”

“And only got the details from Azazel, a few months later.”

“Right.”

It makes him feel better, somehow, to know that Crawly had missed the whole thing, too.

“It’s all a bit mental, when you think of it.” The demon mutters, after a bit more silence. “Here the watchers are, creating their own personal Heaven on Earth, starting a dynasty, and I hadn’t even realised we could do that stuff with our own bodies - the whole reproduction bit, I mean.” The demon glances down at their slender form. “Had no idea we were human-compatible. Didn’t even know how humans got babies inside themselves, to be frank. Seems a bit of an imprecise process… fucking and ending up with offspring/ It feels like it should be more deliberate. Or obvious. Or separate to what they do for fun. I mean, how do they know if they’re going to end up with a baby?” The demon asks, wrinkling their nose. “And why doesn’t it work every time? And why does it only work when you put certain bits in certain holes?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Aziraphale gives a polite little cough, desperate for a change of subject. “Anyway, I’m only here to thwart whatever evil you’re up to, Crawly, so unless you’ve been impregnating humans-,” Good Lord, he hopes the demon is not. He really is not ready for that conversation.

But, thankfully, the demon just shakes their head.

“Oh, no. None of that. Only just getting into the whole sex thing, myself, but I tend to go for the receiving end of things.”

“Right.” It feels strangely personal, knowing that, for some reason. Aziraphale clears his throat and deliberately avoids the demon's gaze for a few seconds, staring off into the middle distance. “I see.”

Crawly gives a little stretch, then looks around themselves - seemingly remembering the premise under which they had both left the camp. Pacing over to a small pile of rocks that mark a turn in the wagon path, they hitch their skirts up to their hips and squat.

“Wh-what are you doing?” The angel asks, glancing back around, caught off guard.

“Pissing.” Crawly widens their eyes at him, the hint of a challenge in them. “That’s what I told them I was out here to do. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye out, for bandits.” The demon gives a slight grimace, is silent for a few seconds, then lets out a low groan of relief.

Aziraphale looks hurriedly away - trying to ignore the soft rush of liquid against hard-packed dirt, trying not to imagine how the Earth is soaking up what Crawly offers.

Them committing to the whims of their earthly bodies always feels a bit illicit - a bit of an indulgence and an indiscretion. They are celestial (and occult) creatures, after all. Their forms can be kept alive by magic, rather than physiology. They do not technically need to breathe, or sleep, or drink. They do not need a functioning urinary or reproductive system. Yet, here Crawly was, indulging in both. Squatting in the dirt, tip of their cock an inch off the sand, having a piss. Recreationally. And probably a little just to make him feel awkward.

Aziraphale glances over again, then looks quickly away, clearing this throat.

“You are such a prude,” the demon chuckles, as they stand and adjust their skirts. “And a hypocrite. I’ve seen you stuffing your face on the humans’ latest culinary delights more times than I can count. Not to mention getting drunk as Lot, on the local wines. All that liquid is supposed to go somewhere, you know.”

“I know that.”

“But you don’t piss?”

“I do not need to.”

The demon chuckles again.

“You should give it a go, angel. It feels nice.”

“Not really my thing.”

Crawly eyes him with a sudden upswing in interest.

“You know… there are a lot of things a person can do, with a human-shaped body,” they say, after a careful pause. “Lots of things that feel nice. Have you never… tried any of that, before?”

“Any of what, precisely?”

“Sex stuff.”

The angel’s cheeks flush the rest of the way to scarlet.

“Oh, no! It would hardly be appropriate,” he mutters. “I mean, look what happened to the others. Azazel, and the rest. I-,” his throat is tight, dry. “I mean, I’ve considered it, of course. One can’t help but think about these things, occasionally, stuck in these bodies as we are and surrounded by humans. But… no. No, I… I couldn’t possibly.” 

“Well, I mean… you wouldn’t necessarily have to lie with a _human,_ ” Crawly points out, and there is something different in the demon’s voice, all of a sudden. It’s no longer just a tease. There is something warmer and darker, but also uncharacteristically shy. “It’s not like they’re the only ones down here.”

Aziraphale looks up, meeting Crawly’s eyes. They are wide and gold, the pupils as round as ovals in the dark. The proper part of the angel wants to ask his counterpart ‘ _what on Earth do you mean_?’ - but he knows that would be just for his own benefit, to pull on a veil of false innocence over his interest. In truth, he knows perfectly well what Crawly means. He cannot lie with humans. But if he plays his cards right, he might be able to lie with a demon.

The angel imagines, for a second, what might happen if he accepted the proposition. The scene plays out on front of his eyes, vague and restricted by his lack of experience.

He imagines the pair of them in a warm tent, somewhere, lying in a nest of comfortable pillows and rugs. He imagines the distant sounds of a human camp. The glow of a cookfire lighting the sharp angles of Crawly’s face, through canvas. He imagines the scent of the demon filling up his senses - the faint smoke of Crawly’s skin, the sandalwood oil they daub across it. He imagines the demon wrapped in a loose shift, imagines being able to see the notch between their collarbones, the soft dip down the centre of them. The red of their hair. The pale shine of their skin.

He does not know what comes next, in this imagined scene. He has no personal knowledge of sex to draw from. They could kiss, he thinks. He knows that happens and he likes to kiss. He’s done it before - as a soft, affectionate thing, between friends - but it might be nice to share it privately. To draw the sensation out. To savour it. It might be nice to touch, too. To reach out and brush fingers over the warm skin of his counterpart’s body. He could trace the angles of the demon, feeling the strength that Crawly carries, in their bones. He could trace further, down to the crease of a hip. Down to the blunt tip of that pink cock that he’s just seen.

The angel knows what it feels like, to rub fingers over those parts of his own body. He imagines what it might be like, to touch Crawly there, and watch the demon experience those sensations, from the outside. He imagines the demon’s flesh swelling under his touch, the demon’s lips parting, slowly. Perhaps, Crawly would squirm, he thinks. Perhaps, their toes would curl in, as Aziraphale’s tend to do. Perhaps, the demon would make that soft noise they sometimes make, when they are really enjoying a good drink of wine. Yes, he would like that, Aziraphale thinks. He would like that a lot.

Warmth rolls through the angel, filling him up, ill-defined and total. It prickles the skin over the back of his neck and sends a dull ache through his abdomen, leaving his hands feeling strangely empty. It is closely followed by the sharp sting of reality.

_Fuck!_

Aziraphale slams the shutters down on his thoughts. Looking away from Crawly, into the darkening desert, he quickly sections off all the parts of himself - a skill he has become practised in, these last two thousand years on Earth.

This body is a vessel, he reminds himself. This world is just one dimension of reality. He isphysically here, on Earth, but he is also Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern gate - a celestial soul only temporarily living within a physical body (a body that is aching, suddenly. Aching). He is an angel, he tells himself firmly. And Crawly is a demon.

Clearing his throat, the angel turns and takes a few paces off, into the desert, putting space between himself and his counterpart.

“Well, I’m afraid I must be off,” he says, a little too loudly. His voice comes out all tight, and high. Unnatural, despite his attempt to sound nonchalant. “Things are rather hectic, at the moment.”

“Riiiight…”

He can feel the weight of Crawly’s stare.

“Lots of blessings to check up on.”

“What - now? In the dark?”

“Yes, yes. Can’t be helped, you know?” He glances back at the demon, who doesn’t seem to know what to do with their face. Their expression is stuck somewhere between confusion, surprise, and disappointment. “Working round the clock,” Aziraphale tells his counterpart. “Very busy. And everything here seems perfectly above board.” The angel stars to walk away, skin feeling very tight, heart thrilling in his chest.

“Right…”

He chances a glance back at Crawly, as the darkness starts to swallow them. The demon is still watching him, hands on hips, head tilted slightly.

“Well, at least now I know how to get rid of you,” they mutter, audibly.

Aziraphale continues to walk away, down the road.

He’s being an idiot. He knows he’s being an idiot. He knows that Crawly knows exactly why he’s fleeing, but he cannot seem to master himself and stay. This whole situation had caught him rather by surprise and he needs to be alone somewhere, for a while, to figure out what it means and what he should do about it.

“Many blessings upon your evening, my dear.” Aziraphale calls, over his shoulder. Then, there is a shimmer, and a tightening in the air, and he vanishes.

.

Crawly is left standing in the dark, staring after him.

“Well. That was a thing.”

They watch the spot where the angel had last stood for a few seconds, the distant sounds of the camp punctuating the otherwise perfect silence of the desert night.

“I am taking the humans to Kish, in case you were wondering,” they call out, after a bit, into the nothingness. “It’s a really big, demonic deal… They’ve invented a new way of recording musical notation and they’re going to spread it through the city. The son of the magistrate is marrying the daughter of some rich noble and there are going to be hundreds of guests. They’re all going to listen to dozens of songs about fucking and drinking and sin - and now my lot have a way of writing them down, the damned things are going to last for thousands of years. It’s really going to piss your lot off something rotten… There’s even blasphemy involved!”

Silence greets the words.

“You are missing out, you know,” Crawly tries again. “Could have made your evening.”

More silence.

“Would have sucked you until your toes went numb, you twat.”

Nothing.

The demon lets out a long sigh, then turns their eyes towards the sky - where it is easiest to imagine God watching, laughing at them.

“Oh, don’t you say a fucking thing…”

As per usual, God does not respond.

“Ngk.”

Turning on their heels, Crawly slouches back to camp.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me lurking on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heycaricari), and [Tumblr](https://heycaricari.tumblr.com/) @heycaricari


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